All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. Also from the capital came news of grave fears for the safety of the royal family, who had moved there from Versailles. The flowers and turf, a wild strawberry, a rare butterfly, and suchlike little intimate things had become more interesting than mountains. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. How was I to know what would happen? He always said if he couldn’t get you a dowry, you could take the veil. The stranger with a bow returned to his table. She spoke with fluent enthusiasm.
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